* 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


-*>• 

A  ? 


r 


ITbe  ^Treasures  of 
Ikurium  * 

flX  t>.  (Bates 


flew  l^orft  anO  XonDon 
(3.  IP.  Putnam's  Sons 

1895 


COPYRIGHT,   1895 
BY 

ELLEN  M.  H.  GATES 


Ube  ftnicfccrbocber  press,  flew  JJorfe 


CONTENTS. 


"  THE  TREASURES  OF  KURIUM  "  . 
"  THROUGH  A  GLASS,  DARKLY  "  . 
THE  PRAYERS  .... 
HAUNTED  .  .  .  .  . 
ON  CHRISTMAS  DAY  .  .  '  ; 
"  I  AM  OLD,"  SAID  THE  EARTH 

A  STORY         

MY  CHILD 

MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE  . 
THE  CHILDREN'S  COUNTRY     . 
SLEEP  SWEET  ! 

AT  NOONDAY         .... 
A  STORM  AT  NIGHT 
THE  BUTTERFLIES  . 
"  Is  LIFE  WORTH  LIVING  ?  "  .        . 
YOUR  MISSION 
MY  SHADOW  .'•• 

SEPTEMBER  THIRTIETH  .        .        . 
iii 


3 
6 

9 
10 

12 

14 
16 

19 
22 

25 
28 
29 
32 
34 
36 
38 
41 
44 


iv  Contents 


PAGE 

ANNUALS  AND  ACORNS 48 

SUNSET 51 

"  WHATEVER  TEARS  MINE  EVES  SHALL  WEEP  "    .        .53 

"OTHERS"     , •     .        .54 

UNSATISFIED  .        .        .        .        .        ...        -55 

A  STATUE       .        .        .        .-,.        ...        .         -57 

THE  GRAPES  OF  ESCHOL         .       ' .        .        ...     59 

FOR  WEAL  OR  WOE        .        .        .        ...        .62 

WE  LOVE  BUT  FEW        .......    64 

IDLENESS 66 

A  VOICE  FROM  FATHER'S  CHAIR 69 

BEAUTIFUL  HANDS.        .        .        ..,.-.        .71 
THE  LAST  MEETING       .        .        .        *        .        .        .73 

Two  DREAMS 75 

THE  POTTER  AND  THE  CLAY 77 

Two  WRITERS .80 

AFTER  THE  STORM ,     .     81 

THE  YELLOW  ROSE 83 

LONELINESS »        .     84 

"  LINCOLN  HAS  FALLEN  !"      .        .        .        .     V.        .86 

Is  YOUR  LAMP  BURNING? go 

A  LITTLE  LOVE      .  ,• 92 

THIS  ONLY     .........     94 

DEAR  HOPE  OF  MINE      .        . 95 

A  NEW  GUEST 96 

THE  PEACEMAKERS 98 

A  LIE     ..........  101 

O  HELEN,  HELEN  DEAR  ! 103 


Contents 


PAGE 

OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 106 

THE  FUNERAL  DAY 108 

ETERNITY       .        .        »'       .        .        .        ...  m 

"SOMEBODY 's  WORKING  FOR  SOMEBODY"     .        .         .113 

PERSONALITY .        .  115 

WHITE  ROBES 117 

"  THE  MISTLETOE  BOUGH  " 118 

COME,  SWEETHEART,  COME    ......        .        .        .  120 

"  LEST  YE  BE  JUDGED  " 122 

"  TRACE  THOU  THE  PATH  " 123 

JOY 125 

IN  DARKENED  HOUSE             , 126 

A  NEW  PRAYER                                                               .  128 


THE  TREASURES  OF  KURIUM 


•K 

THE  TREASURES  OF  KURIUM 


OME,    look  at  the  treasures  of   Kurium 


r 

^^     spread 


In  the  light  of  the  sun.     From  the  dust  of  the 

dead 

They  are  lifted  at  last,  and  they  blaze  as  of  old, 
These  vials  and  vases  and  trinkets  of  gold. 


They  are  parts  of  the  stories  of  temple  and  tomb, 
And  they  bided  their  time  in  the  silence  and 

gloom ; 
While  flesh  that  was  mortal  would   moulder 

away, 

They  flashed  in  defiance  of  time  and  decay. 
3 


4  The  Treasures  of  Kurium 

These  rubies  are  priceless,  and  red  as  the  blood 
Of  women  who  wore  them  when  life  was  at 

flood; 

O  maidens  of  Cyprus,  and  daughters  of  Kings ; 
What  secrets  are  these  that  are  traced  in  the 

rings? 

What   soft,   slender  throat   did  this   necklace 

adorn  ? 
Was  it  love's  trembling  gift  in  the  world's  early 

morn? 

Speak  low  in  this  place,  for  they  do  not  forget ; 
Some  love  that  could  die  not  may  cling  to  it  yet. 

Thou  "  King  Etevander,"  with  story  untold  ; 
Didst  offer  Astarte  these  armlets  of  gold  ? 
O'er-wearied  with  splendor,  a  boon  didst  thou 

crave  ? 
Was  it  peace  on  the  earth  ?     Was  it  rest  in  the 

grave  ? 


The  Treasures  of  Kurium  5 

What  strange  fire  was  lit  in  these  vases  of  glass  ? 
It  burns  unconsuming  as  centuries  pass; 
What  rainbows  were  melted  and  poured  in  the 

mold? 
What  flash  of  auroras  ?   What  sunsets  of  gold  ? 

These  tear-bottles  here  which   are  dry  as  the 

dust, 

Were  once  overflowing,  their  owners,  we  trust 
Behold  them  with  wonder,  and  smile  as  they 

say, 
Were  they  ours?     Did  we  weep  when  so  brief 

was  our  stay  ? 

Rich  wreckage  is  this,  which  has  come  on  the 

crest 

Of  billows  that  roll  from  the  east  to  the  west ; 
With  hints  of  old  sorrow,  and  splendor,  and 

pride, 
It  is  linking  the  souls  which  the  ages  divide. 


"THROUGH  A  GLASS,  DARKLY" 

T  T  OW  many  times,  within  the  glass, 

*•     I  see  a  figure  pause,  and  pass  ; 
As  like  myself  as  it  can  be, 
And  yet  it  scarcely  looks  at  me. 

The  painted  portraits  on  the  wall, 
That  do  not  move  or  speak  at  all, 
Look  on  me  with  as  kind  a  glance, 
As  this  impassive  countenance. 

But  one  day,  one,  before  the  glass 
I  paused,  and  did  not  dare  to  pass ; 
For  there,  by  some  foreknowledge  lit, 
A  face  looked  out — I  looked  at  it. 
6 


"  Through  a  Glass,  Darkly  "  7 

The  sad  eyes  pierced  me  through  and  through, 
From  the  set  lips  a  challenge  flew  ; 
As  it  had  passed  through  searching  flame, 
A  voice,  imperious,  called  my  name. 

Before  some  clear,  inshining  light, 
My  earthly  atoms  fled  from  sight ; 
As  that  which  evermore  would  be, 
My  soul  itself  confronted  me. 


I  looked  at  it,  ashamed,  dismayed  ; 
It  wore  a  crown,  I  was  afraid  ; 
As  one  who  might,  it  made  demands 
Of  blood  and  brain,  of  heart  and  hands. 


It  questioned  me,  it  whispered  clear, 
Great  secrets  that  I  ought  to  hear ; 
It  bade  me  keep,  in  solemn  trust, 
Its  royal  purple  from  the  dust. 


"  Through  a  Glass,  Darkly  " 

The  tryst  was  ended — I  could  see 
A  veil  drop  down  'twixt  it  and  me ; 
I  had  no  questions  more  to  ask 
Of  Life  or  Death — I  knew  my  task. 


THE  PRAYERS 

T  F  we  listen,  we  can  hear 

Through  all  sounds  that  earth  is  making, 
Through  its  music,  sweet  and  clear, 

Through  its  moan  when  hearts  are  breaking, 
A  low  murmur,  as  of  streams, 
Flowing  through  a  land  of  dreams. 

'T  is  the  ceaseless  sound  of  prayer, 
Men  and  women,  sobbing,  pleading, 
With  more  pain  than  they  can  bear, 
For  God's  pity  interceding 

All  together — each  alone, 

Beat  the  prayers  against  the  throne. 


HAUNTED 

TT  comes  once  more!  I  turn  and  flee, 
And  wave  it  backward,  all  in  vain ; 
It  knows  my  pathways, — woe  is  me  ! 

On,  on,  across  the  fields  I  strain ; 
And  through  the  forests,  where  the  trees 

Lock  all  their  branches,  but  I  hear 
A  whisper  on  the  wandering  breeze, 

And  know  the  haunting  shape  is  near. 

Within  the  city's  crowded  street, 
I  strive  to  hide  me  from  my  foe ; 

Where  many  hearts  so  gaily  beat, 
I  surely  may  with  courage  go. 

5 

10 


Haunted  1 1 

I  should  be  glad,  the  sun  is  high  ; 

I  would  not  harm  the  slightest  thing, 
And  God  himself  is  in  the  sky, 

And  all  His  angels  on  the  wing. 

I  do  not  know,  sometimes  I  think 

A  friend  may  come  in  strange  disguise, 
With  some  clear  draught  for  me  to  drink, 

As  life's  most  wonderful  surprise  ; 
That  in  some  near  or  distant  day, 

The  thing  I  fear  may  take  my  hand, 
And  draw  me  close,  and  smile,  and  say, 

"  At  last,  at  last,  you  understand  !  " 


ON  CHRISTMAS  DAY 

"\  ~\  7  HAT  can  I  give  you  on  this  day, 

My  dear,  dear  friend  of  many  years  ? 
Your  love,  as  steadfast  as  the  sun, 
Along  my  lengthening  life  has  run, 
Nor  failed  me  once,  nor  made  delay, 

Nor  laughed  to  scorn  my  hopes  and  fears. 

When  I  am  weakest,  still  your  hand 
Is  stretched  to  touch  me  in  my  place. 

Whatever  comes,  I  smile  serene, 

To  think  my  soul  on  yours  can  lean, 

For  you  are  sure  to  understand, 

And  peace  and  strength  are  in  your  face. 


On  Christmas  Day  13 


O  lightly,  lightly,  to  and  fro, 

The  gifts  on  Christmas  day  are  passed. 
Our  hands  are  weary  as  they  hold 
The  tiresome  trinkets  bought  with  gold ; 
A  while  they  please  us  with  their  glow, 

But  back  to  dust  they  fall  at  last. 

Alas !  my  friend,  how  poor  I  am  ! 

No  gift  I  bring  you  on  this  day. 
No  filmy  web  from  Indian  loom, 
Nor  gem,  nor  flower,  nor  rare  perfume, 
Nor  spices  fine,  nor  costly  balm, 

Before  your  feet  my  hands  may  lay. 

And  yet  I  love  you,  love  you,  dear, 
And  love  a  deathless  thing  must  be. 

Mine  shall  enfold  you,  when  your  face 

Makes  happier  still  some  heavenly  place, 

And  no  revolving  earthly  year 

Brings  tears  or  pain  to  you  and  me. 


"I  AM  OLD,"  SAID  THE  EARTH 

"  T  AM  old,"  said  the  earth,  "  I  am  old, 

*     I  am  wearied  in  all  my  frame ; 
I  am  stiff  with  the  northern  cold  ; 

I  am  seared  by  the  southern  flame ; 
I  am  worn  with  the  ways  of  men  ; 

Death  reaps  them  down,  like  corn, 
They  are  hid  in  my  breast,  and  then, 

Straightway,  new  men  are  born. 
And  their  laughter  is  all  in  vain, 

For  they  count  the  days  and  years ; 
And  they  babble  of  loss  and  gain, 

And  they  drench  me  with  their  tears. 
Is  there  never  an  end  of  all  ? 

Can  a  great  world  never  die, 
14 


"7  Am  Old"  said  the  Earth  15 


And  rest,  like  a  mighty  ball, 

In  the  depth  of  the  awful  sky ; 
Or,  some  day,  feel,  through  sea  and  sod, 

New,  quick'ning    touch,  from  the   hand    of 
God?" 


A   STORY 

rT"vELL  a  story,  tell  a  story, 

*•       Tell  it  to  the  old  and  young ; 
Let  it  be  of  love  or  glory, 

Tell  it  with  a  silver  tongue. 
Tell  it  till  our  eyes  shall  glisten, — 

What  a  motley  crowd  are  we ; 
Some  are  weeping  as  they  listen, 

Some  are  smiling  tenderly. 


Tell  a  story,  tell  a  story, 

Tell  it  when  the  days  are  drear, 
When  the  cedar  trees  are  hoary, 

In  the  old  age  of  the  year. 

a  16 


A  Story 

Weave  us  then  your  finest  fancies ; 

Show  us  signs  in  earth  and  sky, 
That  the  crowned  truth  advances, 

And  the  roots  of  evil  die. 


Tell  a  story,  tell  a  story, 

Some  of  us  are  old  and  gray ; 
Over  pleasures  transitory 

We  have  mourned  for  many  a  day. 
Beaten  backward  and  mistaken, 

We  have  looked  at  Love's  alloy, 
Let  your  words  to  life  awaken 

Many  a  dream  of  hope  and  joy. 

Tell  a  story,  tell  a  story, 

Some  of  us  are  young  and  gay ; 

Give  us  glimpses  of  the  glory 
That  shall  gild  the  coming  day. 

You  can  set  our  pulses  flying, 
You  can  mould  us  as  you  please ; 


1 8  A  Story 

See  us  laughing,  trembling,  crying, 
As  we  gather  at  your  knees — ! 

Tell  a  story,  tell  a  story, 

Dip  your  pen  in  golden  foam, 
Weave  for  us  a  web  of  glory, 

Round  the  blessed  hearth  of  home. 
With  the  fire-light  in  our  faces, 

Make  us  see  that,  East  or  West, 
Through  all  time  and  in  all  places, 

Love  is  first,  and  last,  and  best — ! 


MY   CHILD 

THOU    great   world !   so  full  of  lights 
and  shadows, 
Of  doubts  and  fears,  of  hopes  that  wax  and 

wane, 
Of  lonely  deserts  and  of  green  oases, 

Of  mirth  and  music,  bitter  tears  and  pain ; 
I  look  far  off  adown  thy  tangled  mazes, 

But   mists  are  floating  and  the   clouds  are 

piled, 

And  I  can  stand  upon  no  mount  of  vision, 
To  trace  the  pathway  of  my  little  child. 

I  pray  thee,  World,  deal  kindly  with  her  ever, 
Oh,  do  not  fright  her  in  her  tender  years ! 
19 


20  My  Child 

Hold  back  thy  storms,  let  them  not  beat  upon 

her  ; 
Dim  not  too  soon  these  soulful  eyes  with 

tears. 
If  far  away  among  the  dim  to-morrows, 

Dead  leaves  are  rustling  where  her  feet  must 

tread, 

Let  all  thy  breezes  prophesy  of  summer, 
And  all  thy  birds  sing  joyful  overhead. 

Angels  of  God,  pitch  your  white  tents  above 

her! 

Oh,  let  her  feel,  whate'er  the  future  brings, 
That  all  the  air  is  throbbing  with  your  presence, 
And   when  the   evening    o'er   her    pathway 

flings 
Shade  after   shade,  still   walking  close   beside 

her, 
Let  your  "  Praise  God  !  "  ring  out  so  loud  and 

clear, — 

A  hymn  of  Heaven  among  the  earthly  noises, — 
That  all  her  soul  shall  hush  itself  to  hear. 


My  Child  21 

Thou    Sword    of   Truth,  flash  night   and   day 

before  her ! 
Should  falsehood  weave  its  meshes  for  her 

feet, 
Should  poison  fruitage  hang  alluring  o'er  her, 

And  lying  voices  bid  her  pluck  and  eat, 
Then  thou  good  Sword,  flash  swift  through  all 

disguises, 

Point  out  the  place  where  error  lies  concealed, 
And  oh,  to  win  the  soul's  immortal  prizes, 
Strike  thou  for  her  on  life's  great  battle-field  ! 

Thou  King  of  kings,  Jesus,  Thou  son  of  Mary ! 

\ 

As  once  of  old,  Judean  mothers  came, 
Bringing  their  children,  praying  Thee  to  bless 

them, 

So  come  I  now,  my  errand  is  the  same ; 
In  arms  of  faith  I  hold  her  up  before  Thee, 

The  world,  O  Lord  !  how  wide  it  is  and  wild ! 
What  can  she  do  ?     How  can  she  live  without 

Thee? 
With  all  Thy  blessings,  bless  my  little  child ! 


MY   MOTHER'S  PICTURE 

T  IOW  many  times,  as  through  the  room  I 
A          hasten, 

Without  a  thought  of  other  days  at  all, 
I  lift  my  eyes,  and  straightway  I  am  standing 

Before  her  picture,  hanging  on  the  wall. 

Almost  it  seems  her  pleasant  voice  is  calling, 
And  I  am  fain  to  answer,  "  Yes,  I  hear, 

All  earthly  sounds  shall  be  to  me  as  silence, 
If  you  will  speak,  O  mother,  mother  dear ! " 

No  answer  comes,  I  hush  my  breath  to  listen, 
But  still  the  eyes  with  patient,  steadfast  gaze 

22 


My  Mother  s  Picture  23 


Look  into  mine  ;  they  pierce  through  flesh  and 

spirit. 
I  bow  my  head  and  blush  beneath  their  rays. 

For  she  is  wise  with  wisdom  that  appalls  me, 
The  solemn  secrets  of  the  grave  she  knows 

And  high  o'er  me,  by  God's  own  hand  uplifted, 
Through  wondrous  ways  of  His  own  Heaven 
she  goes. 

Beyond  all  change,  and  safe  from  time's  mu 
tation, 
And    grieved    no   more   by   earth's   forlorn 

complaints, 
Thou   pictured   face,   dim   semblance    of   my 

mother, 

How   dost   thou   look  among  the  crowned 
saints  ? 

So  far!  so  far!  once  if  I  faintly  called  you, 
Or  laughed,  or  wept,  you  were  so  quick  to 
know ; 


24  My  Mother's  Picture 


All  else  might  fail,  my  mother's  love  was  cer 
tain, 
Now,  dying  e'en,  your  touch  I  must  forego. 

Thou  there,  I  here,  and  I  know  not  what  spaces 
Beyond  the  grave's  green  width,  divide  us 
two ; 

Nor  of  the  times,  uncounted  and  unnumbered, 
That  must  go  o'er  me,  ere  I  look  on  you. 

But  I  am  coming,  I  shall  find  you,  mother  ! 
Sometime,  somewhere,  when  His  great  will 

is  done, 

And  I  am  fit  to  stand  once  more  beside  you, 
To  your  high  place   I  shall  have  leave  to 
come ! 


THE  CHILDREN'S  COUNTRY 


SHE  is  sitting  very  silent  in  her  little  crimson 
chair, 
With  the  flicker  of  the  firelight  on  her  shining 

golden  hair, 

And  all  pleasant  things  surround  her,  but  her 
thoughts  are  otherwhere. 


For  the  little  lads  and  lasses  have  a  country  of 

their  own, 
Where,   without   the   older  people,   they   can 

wander  off  alone, 
Into  dim  and  distant  regions,  that  were  never 

named  or  known. 

25 


z6  The  Children's  Country 

They  are  wearied  with  the  questions  and  the 

running  to  and  fro, 
For   some  one  is  always  saying,    "  you    must 

come"  or  "you  must  go," 
"  You  must  read  and  write  correctly,  walking, 

talking,  thus  and  so." 

They  can  turn  at  any  moment  from  the  figures 

on  their  slates, 
And  the  names  of  all  the  islands  and  the  oceans 

and  the  states, 
Disappear  and  are  forgotten,  when  they  see  the 

shining  gates 

Of  their  own    delightful   country,  where  they 

wander  as  they  please, 
On  the  great  enchanted  mountains,  and  among 

the  fadeless  trees, 
With  a  thousand  other  children,  all  entirely  at 

their  ease. 


The  Children's  Country  27 


O  the  happy,  happy  children  !  do  they  wish  for 

anything  ? 
Book  or  boat  or  bird  or  picture,  silken  dress  or 

golden  ring? 
Lo !  a  little  page  will  hasten  and  the  treasure 

straight  will  bring. 

It  is  strange,  the  older  people  cannot  find  this 

land  at  all, 
If  they  ever  knew  its  language,  it  is  lost  beyond 

recall, 
And  they  only,  in  their  dreamings,    hear  its 

music  rise  and  fall. 

O  the  riches  of  the  children,  with  this  country 

for  their  own, 
All  the  splendor  of  its  castles,  every  flower  and 

shining  stone, 
Until  time  itself  is  ended,  and  the  worlds  are 

overthrown  ! 


SLEEP  SWEET 

OLEEP  sweet  within  this  quiet  room, 
^     O  thou  !  whoe'er  thou  art ; 
And  let  no  mournful  yesterday, 

Disturb  thy  peaceful  heart. 
Nor  let  to-morrow  scare  thy  rest, 

With  dreams  of  coming  ill ; 
Thy  Maker  is  thy  changeless  Friend, 

His  love  surrounds  thee  still. 
Forget  thyself  and  all  the  world ; 

Put  out  each  feverish  light ; 
The  stars  are  watching  overhead  ; 

Sleep  sweet, — good  night !  good  night ! 


28 


AT  NOONDAY 

/""\  FRIENDS,  dear  friends !  what  mean  these 
^•"'^     sober  faces  ? 

The  children  dance  around  us,  free  as  air, 
But  more  and  more,  there  comes  into  our  faces 

A  wearied  look,  and  we  are  grown  aware 
Of  solemn  changes  that  are  stealing  o'er  us, 

For   O   the   years !    they   make   their   stern 

demands, 
What  can  we  do  ? — the  way  is  short  before  us, 

And  closer,  closer,  we  are  clasping  hands. 


We  scarcely  knew  when  the  sweet  morn  de 
parted, 
A  wondrous  light  was  over  earth  and  sky, 


3°  At  Noonday 

And  on  we  sped,  careless  and  happy-hearted, 
Nor  answer  made  to  her  "good-bye,  good 
bye." 
We  miss  her  now,  the  changeful  years  endear 

her, 
Through  golden  mists  we  watch  her  where 

she  stands ; 
She  looks   and   smiles,   but   never   will   come 

nearer, 
Then  closer,  closer,  let  us  clasp  our  hands. 

We  thought  the  sun  was  standing  still  above  us, 

A  changeless  thing,  safe  anchored  in  the  sky ; 
It  moves  at  last,  and  now,  if  any  love  us, 

We  call  to  them  "  Noon  too,  is  passing  by ! " 
Along  the  grasses  do  our  shadows  lengthen, 

The   winds   blow   fresh    from    undiscovered 

lands ; 

Now,    now    indeed,     all    tender    ties    should 
strengthen, 

And  closer,  closer,  we  are  clasping  hands. 


At  Noonday  3 1 

The  song  of  birds  is  sweet  and  sweeter  growing, 

The  rainbows  bend  more  brightly  in  the  sky  ; 
We  slowly  walk,  but  we  are  surely  going 

Through  wider  gateways,  as  the  years  go  by. 
O  little  children  !  dance  and  sing  around  us, 

Not  one  of  you  our  story  understands ; 
We   have   borne   crosses,  many   crowns   have 
crowned  us ; 

And  closer,  closer  we  are  clasping  hands. 

Our  ranks  are  broken,  but  we  follow,  follow, 

Along  the  paths  that  every  foot  must  tread ; 
The  Heavens  are  near  when  earth  is  ringing 

hollow, 

Why  should  we  mourn  or  be  disquieted  ? 
O  friends,  dear  friends,  come  nearer  still  and 

nearer, 
Love  wears  her  crown  and   strengthens   all 

her  bands ; 

Your  faces  glow,  your  names  are  growing  dearer, 
And  closer,  closer  let  us  clasp  our  hands. 


A  STORM  AT  NIGHT 

gas-lights  flicker  in  the  rain, 
•*•       The  wind  comes  roaring  down  the  street, 
And  wrestling  with  the  storm  amain, 
The  door-yard  trees,  like  souls  in  pain, 
Our  human  sympathies  entreat. 

The  sky  is  black  with  warring  clouds, 
And  all  His  thunders  mutter  low, 

While  here  and  there,  like  fiery  brands, 

From  the  Almighty's  open  hands, 
The  leaping  lightnings  go. 

'Mid  such  an  awful  storm  at  night, 
While  all  creation  groans  around, 

32 


A  Storm  at  Night  33 


How  earth  and  time  sink  out  of  sight ; 
While  thought  on  thought,  in  solemn  flight, 
Goes  yearning  up  the  dim  profound. 

How  hushed  are  all  our  passions  now ; 

Ambition's  fever  dies  away, 
Strength  takes  the  helmet  from  her  brow, 
And  sitting  in  the  ashes  low, 

Pride  blushes  over  yesterday. 

We  look  across  the  vague  expanse, 
And  stir  our  chain,  and  try  our  wings, 

And  often  catch  a  fleeting  glance, 

Of  our  safe-kept  inheritance, 
Among  the  everlasting  things. 


THE   BUTTERFLIES 

T    OOK  at  the  butterflies!  purposeless  things, 
How  idly   they  float   on  their  gossamer 

wings, 

Over  the  poppies  and  over  the  grass, 
Swift  as  the  down  of  a  thistle  they  pass. 

Where  are  they  going,  and  why  are  they  here 
In  the  heat  of  the  day  and  the  noon  of   the 

year? 

They  flutter  awhile  in  the  brightness,  and  then 
They  are  gone  from  our  sight,  and  they  come 

not  again. 

And  we — we  are  wearied  with  fever  and  frost ; 
Whatever  we  do,  it  must  be  at  a  cost ; 
34 


The  Butterflies  35 


We  hear  as  we  journey,  the  dropping  of  tears ; 
We  bear  on  our   foreheads  the  stamp  of  the 
years. 

But  look  at  the  butterflies  !  beautiful  things, 
Before  us  and  over  us  flashing  their  wings ; 
It  may  be,  the  Maker  who  fashioned  them  thus, 
Has  sent  the  gay  creatures  on  errands  to  us. 

Perhaps  we  go  slowly  when  we  should  be  swift 
To  follow  the  scent  of  the  roses,  that  drift 
Their  pink  snow  about  us,  more  oft  we  might 

play 
And  yet  finish  our  tasks  by  the  end  of  the  day. 

O  blest  are  the  eyes  that  are  clear  to  behold 
The  wonderful  glow  of  the  butterflies'  gold, 
With  leisure  to  follow  their  flight  as  they  pass 
Silently,  gracefully,  over  the  grass ! 


"IS   LIFE  WORTH    LIVING?" 

\/"ES,  yes,  we  say,  our  lives  are  worth 
All  that  they  cost,  whate'er  befall, 
And  if  the  round,  unresting  earth 

And  these  poor,  mortal  days  were  all ; 
Faced  all  the  time  by  pain  and  death, 
'T  is  worth  our  while  to  draw  our  breath. 


If  only  once  we  saw  the  sun 
March,  like  a  god  across  the  sky, 

And  only  once,  when  day  was  done, 
We  watched  the  fires  of  sunset  die ; 

These  hints  of  other  worlds  would  be 

Worth  all  the  years  to  you  and  me. 

36 


"  Is  Life  Worth  Living  ?  "  37 


But  once  to  see  the  stars  at  night, 
And  once  the  roses  by  the  door; 

To  see  but  once  the  oceans  smite 

With  awful  strength  the  quiv'ring  shore — 

These,  these  alone  would  make  our  breath 

Worth  all  the  pangs  of  birth  and  death. 

Is  life  worth  living?  Dearest  eyes, 
That  look  to  ours  in  weal  or  woe, 

How  would  ye  flash  in  pained  surprise 
If  false  to  you  we  answered  "  No  " — 

By  all  that  we  can  know  or  guess 

Of  earth  or  heaven,  we  answer — Yes. 


YOUR  MISSION 

TF  you  cannot  on  the  ocean 

Sail  among  the  swiftest  fleet, 
Rocking  on  the  highest  billows, 

Laughing  at  the  storms  you  meet ; 
You  can  stand  among  the  sailors, 

Anchored  yet  within  the  bay, 
You  can  lend  a  hand  to  help  them, 

As  they  launch  their  boats  away. 

If  you  are  too  weak  to  journey 
Up  the  mountain,  steep  and  high, 

You  can  stand  within  the  valley, 
While  the  multitudes  go  by ; 

You  can  chant  in  happy  measure, 
38 


Your  Mission  39 


As  they  slowly  pass  along, — 
Though  they  may  forget  the  singer, 
They  will  not  forget  the  song. 

If  you  have  not  gold  and  silver, 

Ever  ready  at  command  ; 
If  you  cannot  toward  the  needy, 

Reach  an  ever  open  hand  ; 
You  can  visit  the  afflicted, 

O'er  the  erring  you  can  weep, 
With  the  Savior's  true  disciples, 

You  a  tireless  watch  may  keep. 


If  you  cannot  in  the  harvest, 

Garner  up  the  richest  sheaves, 
Many  a  grain,  both  ripe  and  golden, 

Oft  the  careless  reaper  leaves  ; 
Go  and  glean  among  the  briars 

Growing  rank  against  the  wall, 
For  it  may  be  that  their  shadow 

Hides  the  heaviest  wheat  of  all ! 


4°  Your  Mission 


If  you  cannot  in  the  conflict 

Prove  yourself  a  soldier  true, 
If,  where  fire  and  smoke  are  thickest, 

There  's  no  work  for  you  to  do ; 
When  the  battle-field  is  silent, 

You  can  go  with  careful  tread  ; 
You  can  bear  away  the  wounded, 

You  can  cover  up  the  dead. 

Do  not  then  stand  idly  waiting 

For  some  greater  work  to  do, 
Fortune  is  a  lazy  goddess, 

She  will  never  come  to  you  ; 
Go  and  toil  in  any  vineyard, 

Do  not  fear  to  do  and  dare, 
If  you  want  a  field  of  labor, 

You  can  find  it  anywhere. 


MY  SHADOW 

TIP  and  down  it  follows,  follows, 
^^      I  can  never  quite  escape  ; 
On  the  hills  and  in  the  hollows, 

This  familiar,  silent  shape 
Still  is  with  me,  tireless  ever ; 

Friend  or  foe — whoe'er  I  meet, 
This  companion  leaves  me  never, 

Keeping  step  with  soundless  feet. 

Looking  at  it,  I  am  lonely, 
For  a  stranger  still  it  seems  ; 

Tho'  it  follows  me — me  only, 

Yet,  as  something  seen  in  dreams, 

I  behold  it.     Oft  I  wonder 
41 


42  My  Shadow 

Whither  all  its  steps  do  tend ; 
All  its  features  hidden  under 

Veils  no  changeful  winds  can  rend. 

Can  nor  pain  nor  passion  move  thee, 

O  my  comrade  ?  I  am  tossed 
By  the  tempests  sent  to  prove  me — 

On  thy  calm  their  wrath  is  lost. 
Come  thou  near,  my  patient  lover, 

Let  me  whisper  that  I  see — 
What  no  other  may  discover — 

Change  at  last  has  come  to  thee  ! 

Once  thy  feet  were  swift  beside  me, 

Not  a  hill  too  high  to  climb ; 
From  the  heat  thou  didst  not  hide  thee, 

Naught  to  thee  were  space  and  time ; 
Light  as  air,  I  saw  thee  dancing 

Down  the  pathway  where  I  strayed — 
Dost  thou  see  the  night  advancing? 

Art  thou  of  the  dark  afraid  ? 


My  Shadmv  43 

Canst  thou  hear  me,  lover,  stranger? 

Silent  shape,  I  tell  thee  now, 
I,  thro'  safety  and  thro'  danger, 

Am  become  as  changed  as  thou  ; 
Yet  my  heart  leaps  on  before  me, 

New  stars  burn  within  the  sky ; 
Courage !  courage  !  I  implore  thee — 

O  my  comrade,  faster  fly ! 


SEPTEMBER  THIRTIETH 

IT  is  true,  my  heart  is  heavy,  for  the  summer 

days  are  flying, 
The  frost  has  touched  the   roses  and  they 

wither  on  the  stem ; 
Pinks,  pansies  and  forget-me-nots,  they  all  are 

dead  or  dying, 

I  hear  the  cruel  north-wind  go  sweeping  over 
them. 


And   my    precious    morning-glories,   in    their 

purple  splendor  growing, 
Looking  through  their  leafy  lattice,  all  the 
world  was  fresh  and  fair, 

44 


September  Thirtieth  45 


And  I  loved  to  stand  beside  them  when  the 

eastern  sky  was  glowing, 
For  they  cheered  me  like  an  anthem,  and  they 
calmed  me  like  a  prayer. 

But  to-day  I  look  upon  them  and  behold  their 

glory  waning, 
The  cold   rains   beat  upon   them,  they  are 

shaken  to  and  fro  ; 
They  seem  to  me  like  human  souls  in  awful 

strait  complaining, 

As  low  they  cry  "  good-bye  !  good-bye  !  into 
the  dust  we  go." 

Good-bye  !  good-bye  !  I  answer  them,  my  sum 
mer  too  is  fleeting. 

I  miss  the  glow  and  glamour  that  the  spring 
time  only  knows, 

Across   my  pathway   I    can    see   the   autumn 
shadows  creeping, 


46  September  Thirtieth 


And  though  a  thousand  years  to  come  may 
bud  and  bloom  the  rose, 

And  all  the  flowers  may  come  and  go,  a  gay 

procession,  bringing 
The   freshness   of    the  younger   years,   the 

grasses  wet  with  dew, 
The  pink  blooms  on  the  apple  trees  with  birds 

among  them  singing, 

And  fleecy  clouds,  like  angel  wings,  soft  float 
ing  through  the  blue ; 

Yet  I  may  be  so  far  away  beyond  the  earth's 

dim  border ; 
So   thick   a  vail  may  hang   between   these 

mortal  days  and  me, 
How  do  I  know  if  I  shall  mark  the  seasons  in 

their  order, 

Or  gladden  when  the  winds  blow  warm  across 
the  land  and  sea? 


September  Thirtieth  47 


And   though   within   the   wondrous   world  to 

which  my  soul  is  going, 
Are  lips  forever  smiling  sweet,   and  hearts 

forever  young, 
And  in  the  gracious  atmosphere  fair  blossoms 

always  blowing, 

And  "  glory,  glory,  glory,"  is  the  song  forever 
sung, 

Yet  I  cannot  help  but  sorrow  when  the  summer 

days  are  going, 
I  seek  the  sunny  places,  and  I  love  them  more 

and  more, 
And  dear  and  dearer  still  to  me  these  simple 

things  are  growing, 

The  vines  that  shade  the  windows  and  the 
flowers  beside  the  door. 


ANNUALS  AND  ACORNS 

T  TE  plants  an  annual, you  plant  an  acorn, 
•*•  •*     Both  will  be  beautiful,  by-and-by ; 
Sealed  in  their  sepulchres,  veiled    from   your 
vision, 

Alike  for  a  little  while  they  lie. 
Softly  the  sunlight  will  fall  where  they  slumber, 

On  them  will  filter  the  rain  and  the  dew ; 
Standing   together,  you   look   where  you  laid 

them ; 
Counting  the  moons  as  the  Indians  do. 

A  brief  waiting  only,  the  brown  earth  will  open, 

Up  from  its  grave  will  the  annual  rise ; 
He  who  is  standing  so  patient  beside  you, 

48 


Annuals  and  Acorns  49 


Will   look  at   his   treasure  with   joy  in  his 

eyes. 

He  '11  pluck  a  gay  blossom  to  wear  in  his  bosom, 
Its  beauty  and  fragrance  will  please  him  an 

hour ; 

The  seed  that  he  planted   has  come  to  per 
fection, 
Not  long  did  he  wait  for  his  fair  little  flower. 

Now  what  will  you  do  ?  for  your  acorn  grows 

slowly, 
So  slow  that  its  growth  must  be  counted  by 

years ; 
There  's  no  one  to  praise  it,  and  more  and  more 

lowly 
You  grow,  as  you  water  the  plant  with  your 

tears ; 
You  know  that  its  roots  are  in  league  with  the 

granite, 

You  know  that  its  branches  will  seek  for  the 
sky; 


5°  Annuals  and  Acorns 


But  O,  the  long  strain  on  your  faith  and  your 

patience ! 
Your  hair  is  like  silver,  the  years  hurry  by. 

At  last  you  lie  down  in  your  life's  western 

chamber, 
All  watching  is  over,  your  hope  has  come 

true ; 
And   smiling  you   look   at    the    mighty    oak 

branches, 

Now  waving  between  the  red  sunset  and  you. 
Oh,  what  was  the  waiting,  and  what  was  the 

weeping, 
Now,  now  that  the  day  of  your  crowning  has 

come, 

For  in  the  near  Heaven  are  many  tongues  cry 
ing, 

"  Thou  planter  of  acorns,  well  done  and  well 
done!" 


SUNSET 

rT"'HE  birds  were  all  a-singing, 

The  morning  skies  were  red, 
And  sweet  was  our  communion, 

And  pleasant  words  we  said  ; 
How  close  we  kept  together, 

With  never  once  a  frown, — 
But  look,  I  pray  you,  brother, 

The  sun  is  going  down  ! 

Our  path,  that  at  the  morning, 

Was  as  a  rosy  line, 
Through  greenest  meadows  winding, 

Grows  shorter  all  the  time ; 
And  now  my  eyes  are  brimming, 
51 


52  Sunset 

To  see  the  shadows  fall, 
For  you  and  I  are  walking, 
With  no  kind  words  at  all. 

O  Sun,  stand  still  in  Heaven  ! 

Be  not  so  swift  to  go 
Adown  your  path  of  glory  ; 

This  friend  that  loved  me  so, 
Must  smile  once  more  upon  me, 

And  I  once  more  on  him, 
Before  the  darkness  gathers, 

And  all  the  day  is  dim. 

No  matter  whose  the  blame  was ; 

So  fast  the  shadows  fall, 
There 's  no  time  left  for  talking, 

I  '11  gladly  take  it  all ; 
For  all  the  pride  and  anger, 

Die  out  within  my  breast, 
Now  while  the  sun  is  sinking, 

So  low  adown  the  west. 


"  WHATEVER  TEARS  MINE  EYES 
SHALL  WEEP  " 


\\  WHATEVER  tears  mine  eyes  must  weep, 
One  precious  thing  I  still  may  keep, 

'Till  earth  and  time  shall  end  ; 

I  think  it  will  be  mine  in  Heaven, 
This  perfect  gift  that  God  has  given, — 

It  is  your  love,  my  friend. 


53 


"OTHERS" 


"  /~\THERS  "  are  doing  the  wonderful  things, 
^•^     Theirs  are  the  fingers  that  touch  the 

strings 
That  sound  so  long  'ere  the  music  dies  ; 

Darlings  and  pets  of  their  time,  they  hear 

Praises  of  multitudes,  far  and  near, 
And  ever  their  fame  before  them  flies. 


Alas  !  for  the  "  others,"  how  lonely  they  stand. 
Far  and  apart  on  the  hill-tops  grand, 

We  see  them  plainly  against  the  sky. 
God's  pity  upon  them  !  —  there  's  no  retreat 
From  the  world's  bold  stare,  and  the  sun's  fierce 
heat 

For  the  gifted  ones  who  have  passed  us  by. 

54 


UNSATISFIED 

E  still  for  a  moment,  thou  weariful  world  ! 

Thy  wheels  they  go  faster  and  faster  ; 
I  have  bowed  to  thy  will,  I  have  followed  thy 

beck, 
I  have  worn,  uncomplaining,  thy  yoke  on  my 

neck, 
But  I  will  not  acknowledge  thee,  master. 

Thy  beautiful  trinkets  I  hold  in  my  hands ; 

I  cannot  but  smile  at  thy  story ; 
The  lily-bells  ring  and  the  birds  fly  in  flocks, 
The  vines  and  the  mosses  creep  over  the  rocks, 

The  clouds  are  as  banners  of  glory. 

3 

55 


56  Unsatisfied 

Like  blossoms  the  butterflies  flit  here  and  there, 

And  birds  in  the  branches  are  singing ; 
The  children  are  mocking  at  sorrow  and  care, 
There  's  music  and  laughter  afloat  in  the  air, 
And  flowers  in  the  meadows  are  springing. 

A  wonderful  pageant !  I  see  it  go  by  ; 

And  beauty  and  ashes  are  blended ; 
Keeping  step  with  the  others,  I  march  to  and 

fro, 
But  I  feel  all  the  time  like  a  child  at  a  show, 

That  he  knows,  in  an  hour,  will  be  ended. 

And  somehow,  the  stars  that  were  near  to  me 

once, 

Are  further  and  further  receding  ; 
They  draw   my  heart  after  them  unto  their 

place  ; 

To  catch  their  deep  meaning,  I  lift  up  my  face, 
As  one  for  his  heritage  pleading. 


A  STATUE 

"V/OU  who  love  to  look  on  statues, 
•*       And  the  rarest  would  not  miss, 
Speak  in  whispers,  and  step  softly, 

When  you  come  to  look  at  this. 
Was  there  ever  whiter  marble  ? 

Not  a  hint  of  color  there, 
Save — or  is  it  light  from  Heaven  ? — 

Golden  glints  upon  the  hair. 

They  who  look  upon  this  statue, 
Must  come  quickly.     Ere  the  dawn 

Of  another  day  shall  brighten, 
Heavy  curtains  will  be  drawn 

O'er  the  niche  that  must  receive  it ; 
57 


58  A  Statue 

There,  in  silence  consecrate, 
Where  no  mortal  eye  can  see  it, 
Through  the  ages  it  will  wait. 

Do  you  say,  as  you  stand  weeping, 

By  its  awful  power  oppressed, 
That  its  place  is  in  the  sunlight  ? 

Nay :  the  statue's  name  is  Rest. 
Nothing  may  disturb  its  quiet ; 

Shade  on  shade  will  wrap  it  round ; 
Peace  will  guard  the  heavy  portal 

Of  its  temple  underground. 

"  Cruel,  cruel!  "  you  make  answer: 

"  All  it  lacks  is  blood  and  breath  !  " 
Hush!  two  sculptors  wrought  this  statue, 

And  their  names  are  Life  and  Death. 
Comes  a  day  when  earth  and  Heaven 

Shall  be  shaken  ;  then,  ah !  then, 
This  white  creature  shall  be  lifted 

To  the  sight  of  God  and  men. 


THE  GRAPES  OF  ESCHOL 

A  MONG   the   tribes,  the  weary   tribes,  we 
•**     wander ; 

The  way  is  long,  complainings  fill  the  air ; 
With  God  so  near,  we  fear  the  kings  of  Edom, 

By  smitten  rocks  we  yield  us  to  despair. 
The  seas  gape  wide  and  make  for  us  a  pathway, 

We  hear  the  cry  of  Pharaoh's  drowning  host, 
But  mists  roll  up,  there 's  discord  and  confusion, 

And  far  away  is  Canaan's  peaceful  coast. 

Then  do  we  see  that  walking  close  beside  us, 

With  steady  step,  and  eyes  that  onward  look, 
Are  those  who  went  before  us  to  that  country, 
And  brought  us  grapes  from  Eschol's  won 
drous  brook ; 

59 


60  The  Grapes  of  Eschol 


Their  faces  shine,  their  lips  are  always  singing, 
The  winds  of  Canaan  have  their  foreheads 

fanned, 

Alike  to  them  are  sunrise  and  sunsetting, 
Their  feet  make  haste,  they  have  beheld  the 
land. 

O   thanks  and   thanks,  a   thousand   times  re 
peated  ! 
We   know  your   names,  ye  valiant,  faithful 

few  ; 

Your  lowest  words  are  like  a  song  from  Heaven, 

Ye  searched  the  land  out  better  than  ye  knew. 

When  through  the  camp  there  rings  a  cry  for 

"  Egypt/' 

And  all  the  tribes  sway  backward  in  despair, 
We  turn  to  you  who  bear  the  purple  clusters, 
For  still  ye  say  "  Surely  the  land  is  fair." 

We  pray  you,  friends,  walk  closer  still  beside  us ; 
Talk  to  us  often  of  the  way  ye  took, 


The  Grapes  of  Eschol  6 1 


When  ye  beheld  the  figs  and  pomegranates, 
And  plucked  the  grapes  that  grew  by  Eschol's 

brook. 

When  doubts,  like  evil  birds,  fly  on  before  us, 
And  clouds  obscure  the  path  that  must  be 

trod, 

Speak  low  to  us  of  Sinai  and  its  thunder, 
Repeat  the  name  of  Israel's  mighty  God. 

Ages   have   passed   since   Miriam's   song  was 

ended ; 
The  wondrous  brothers   lead  the  hosts  no 

more; 
Still  do  we  hear  the  whisperings  of  Jordan, 

And  see,  afar,  our  Canaan's  peaceful  shore. 
With    undimmed  splendor  shines  the  star  of 

Jacob; 

Safe,  safe  for  aye,  our  title-deed  doth  stand ; 
Our  lips  shall  taste  the  purple  grapes  of  Eschol, 
Forevermore  we  shall  possess  the  land  ! 


FOR  WEAL  OR  WOE 

r  I  "HEY  clasped  their  hands  for  weal  or  woe, 

And  went  together  down  the  road, 
The  road  that  led,  they  knew  not  whither, 
They  did  not  know  what  winds  would  blow, 

Nor  where  the  shining  rivers  flowed, 
Nor  where  the  sweetest  flowers  would  wither. 

Their  hands  were  clasped  for  weal  or  woe, 
For  love's  dear  sake  their  hearts  were  brave, 

And  years  went  onward,  slowly  creeping, 

Joy  was  their  friend.     With  face  aglow, 
She  often  came  to  them,  and  gave 

Some  priceless  pearl  into  their  keeping. 
62 


For  Weal  or  Woe  63 


Their  hands  were  clasped  for  weal  or  woe  ; 

Together  they  outwatched  the  moon, 
In  many  a  solemn  tryst  with  sorrow. 
By  wayside  graves  their  tears  would  flow, 

And  crossing  many  a  lonesome  dune, 
They,  each  from  each,  some  hope  would  borrow. 

Their  hands  were  clasped  for  weal  or  woe, 
And  faith  was  strong,  and  could  not  fail, 

Though  doubts,  like  evil  birds,  were  flying, 

"  Our  love  shall  last,"  they  whispered  low  ; 
And  bent  their  heads  to  meet  the  gale, 

Which  left  its  wrecks  around  them  lying. 

Their  hands  were  clasped  for  weal  or  woe, 
More  tender  grew  their  words  and  ways, 

Their  fingers  now  were  feebly  clinging  ; 

They  journeyed  slowly  and  more  slow, 
For  strange,  new  stars  began  to  blaze. 

And  all  the  evening  bells  were  ringing. 


WE  LOVE  BUT  FEW 

/""\  YES,  we  mean  all  kind  words  that  we  say 
^•^     To  old  friends,  and  to  new ; 
Yet  doth  this  truth  grow  clearer  day  by  day, 
We  love  but  few. 

We  love !  we  love  !  what  easy  words  to  say, 

And  sweet  to  hear, 
When  sunrise  splendor  brightens  all  the  way, 

And  far  and  near, 

Is  breath  of  flowers,  and  carolling  of  birds, 

And  bells  that  chime, — 
Our  hearts  are  light,  we  do  not  weigh  our  words 

At  morning  time. 

64 


We  Love  But  Few  65 


But  when  the  matin-music  all  is  hushed, 

And  life's  great  load 
Doth  weigh  us  down,  and  thick  with  dust 

Doth  grow  the  road, 

Then  do  we  say  less  often  that  we  love, 

The  words  have  grown, — 
With  pleading  eyes  we  look  to  Christ  above, 

And  clasp  our  own. 

Their  lives  are   bound   to   ours   with   mighty 
bands ; 

No  mortal  strait, 
Nor  Death  himself,  with  his  prevailing  hands, 

Can  separate. 

The  world  is  wide,  and  many  names  are  dear, 

•:   (*'      I 

And  friendships  true, 

Yet  do  these  words  read  plainer  year  by  year, 
We  love  but  few. 


IDLENESS 

A  LL  around  you,  everywhere, 
*»     Men  and  women  do  and  dare, 
With  a  purpose  all  alive, 
In  the  swarming  human  hive. 

Up  and  down,  and  to  and  fro, 
On  the  endless  round  they  go ; 
Patiently  they  bear  their  lot, 
Life  and  death  they  question  not. 

Through  the  darkness,  o'er  the  waste, 
Voices  call  them,  and  they  haste  ; 
To  the  wind  their  fear  they  fling, 
All  their  best  they  gladly  bring. 
66 


Idleness  67 

If  the  wind  blow  east,  or  west, 
They  can  neither  play  nor  rest ; 
So  much  work  beneath  the  sky, 
They  can  scarcely  stop  to  die. 

You  are  idle,  and  you  stand, 
Just  a  dreamer  in  the  land ; 
Having  neither  name  nor  place, 
With  the  runners  in  the  race. 


Are  you  made  of  finer  clay  ? 
Have  you  redder  blood  than  they  ? 
Must  they  always  lay  the  meat 
Which  they  strive  for,  at  your  feet  ? 


Must  they  always,  first  and  last, 
Staftd  between  you  and  the  blast  ? 
Are  you  God's  peculiar  care  ? 
Has  He  favorites  anywhere  ? 


68  Idleness 

It  were  best  that  you  should  feel 
Force  of  tempest,  touch  of  steel ; 
Best  to  let  your  fancies  fine, 
Quicken  into  flames  divine. 

Men  and  women,  with  their  loads, 
Toil  along  the  endless  roads ; 
Overtake  them,  help  them  lift, 
And  no  longer  dream  and  drift. 


A  VOICE  FROM  FATHER'S  CHAIR 

I   HEARD  them  say  that,  "  Isaac's  wife 

*      Had  sent  to  get  the  chair," 

And  at  the  sound  of  Isaac's  name 

I  shook  through  all  my  ancient  frame, 

For  I  had  wondered  where 
The  boy  had  gone,  the  little  boy, 
That  was  his  father's  pride  and  joy. 

And  when  they  said  that  I  must  go, 

Must  start  without  delay, 
I  grew  as  glad  as  any  child, 
And  though  the  wintry  winds  were  wild, 

I  started  on  my  way, 
69 


•jo  A  Voice  From  Father's  Chair 


For  I  was  sure  as  I  could  be, 

That  Isaac's  heart  would  welcome  me. 

So  here  I  am  within  your  home, 

A  plain  old-fashioned  thing, 
But  all  my  hickory  splints  rejoice 
To  hear  the  once  familiar  voice 

That  keeps  its  joyful  ring ; 
For  still  your  eyes  with  hope  are  bright, 
And  still  you  keep  the  Heavens  in  sight. 

Oh,  long  and  long  ago  your  feet 

Passed  from  the  farm-house  door  ! 
You  're  somewhat  gray  and  travel-worn, 
For  many  a  burden  you  have  borne, 

And  youth  returns  no  more ; 
But  you  have  tried  to  do  your  best, 
Sit  down  in  father's  chair  and  rest ! 


BEAUTIFUL  HANDS 

QUCH  beautiful,  beautiful  hands! 

^         They  're  neither  white  nor  small, 

And  you,  I  know,  would  scarcely  think 

That  they  were  fair  at  all. 
I  've  looked  on  hands,  whose  form  and  hue 

A  sculptor's  dream  might  be ; 
Yet  are  these  aged,  wrinkled  hands, 

Most  beautiful  to  me. 

Such  beautiful,  beautiful  hands ! 

Though  heart  were  weary  and  sad, 
These  patient  hands  kept  toiling  on, 

That  the  children  might  be  glad. 
I  almost  weep,  as  looking  back 


72  Beautiful  Hands 


To  childhood's  distant  day, 
I  think  how  these  hands  rested  not, 
When  mine  were  at  their  play. 

Such  beautiful,  beautiful  hands  ! 

They  're  growing  feeble  now, 
For  time  and  pain  have  left  their  mark, 

On  hand  and  heart  and  brow. 
Alas !  alas  !  the  nearing  time, 

And  the  sad,  sad  day  to  me, 
When  'neath  the  daisies,  out  of  sight, 

These  hands  will  folded  be. 

But  Oh,  beyond  this  shadow  land, 

Where  all  is  bright  and  fair, 
I  know  full  well,  these  dear  old  hands 

Will  palms  of  victory  bear ! 
Where  crystal  streams,  through  endless  years, 

Flow  over  golden  sands, 
And  where  the  old  are  young  again, 

I  '11  clasp  my  mother's  hands  ! 


THE   LAST  MEETING 

TF  I  had  known,  if  I  had  known, 

•*•     That  day  we  met  upon  the  street, 

That  nevermore,  in  any  zone 

Of  earth's  wide  spaces,  we  should  meet ; 
What  different  greeting  had  been  mine ! 
What  different  farewell  had  been  thine  ! 

If  we  had  known  or  dimly  guessed, 
That  close  to  you  were  waving  wings  ; 

If  some  low  voice  within  your  breast, 
Had  whispered  of  eternal  things, 

What  solemn  message,  high  and  deep, 

You  would  have  given  me  to  keep ! 
73 


74  The  Last  Meeting 


I  now  recall — how  strange  it  seems! — 
You  spoke  of  "  writing,"  ah  !  my  friend, 

From  that  far  land  beyond  my  dreams, 
What  wondrous  letter  would  you  send  ! 

Here  in  my  silent  room  I  sit, 

And  hush  my  breath  to  think  of  it. 

If  I  had  known  !  if  I  had  known  ! 

Still  to  myself  the  words  I  say, 
As  o'er  your  grave  the  snows  are  blown, 

For  surely  it  was  yesterday, 
When,  for  a  moment's  little  space, 
You  stood  there,  smiling  in  my  face. 

I  did  not  know,  I  could  not  know ; 

The  angels  keep  their  secrets  well, 
But  as  from  earth  to  Heaven  they  go, 

I  think  some  kindly  one  will  tell, 
That  in  remembrance  of  that  hour, 
I  lift  to  you  this  little  flower. 


TWO  DREAMS 


\  *&  7"  HAT  awful  sounds  were  in  the  air, 

With  tears  and  torment  everywhere ! 
My  feet  were  on  the  sinking  sands, 
They  drew  me  down  ;  I  wrung  my  hands, 
And  creatures  whom  I  could  not  see, 
With  cruel  laughter  mocked  at  me  ; 
I  could  not  breathe,  I  could  not  die, 
And  all  the  time,  within  the  sky, 
Were  soldiers  fighting.     Black  and  red 
Their  banners  waved  above  my  head. 
But  suddenly  a  low  voice  spoke  : 
"  Good-morning,  dear."     I  heard  and  woke, 
And  with  a  glad,  exultant  scream, 
I  cried — "  It  was  a  dream  !  a  dream  !  " 
75 


76  Two  Dreams 


But  yesterday  I  saw  a  face 
Grow  white  and  still  within  its  place, 
And  over  eyes  that  long  had  wept, 
A  blessed  darkness  slowly  crept. 

0  friend  beloved,  all  pain  was  passed, 
And  you  were  sound  asleep  at  last. 

1  smiled  to  think  you  were  so  safe 

From  words  and  deeds  that  grieve  and  chafe  ; 

That  Sorrow's  self,  in  garments  gray, 

Like  wavering  mist,  had  fled  away; 

I  thought  you  heard,  as  music  clear, 

New  voices  say,  "  Good-morning,  dear." 

And  waking  where  the  glory  streamed, 

You  joyful  cried — "  I  dreamed  !  I  dreamed !  " 


THE  POTTER  AND  THE  CLAY 


'T'HOU,  thou  art  the  Potter,  and  we  are  the 
*       Clay, 

And  morning  and  evening,  and  day  after  day, 
Thou  turnest  thy  wheel,  and  our  substance  is 

wrought 
Into  form  of  thy  will,  into  shape  of  thy  thought. 


Thou,  thou   art  the  Potter,    the  wheel  turns 

around, 
Thine  eyes  do  not  leave  it.  Our  atoms  were 

ground 
Fine,  fine  in  thy  mills.  O  the  pain  and  the 

cost ! 

77 


78  The  Potter  and  the  Clay 


Thou  knowest  their  number;  not  one  shall  be 
lost. 

Should  Clay  to  the  Potter  make  answer  and  say, 
"  Now  what  dost    thou    fashion  ? "    thy  hand 

would  not  stay, 

Untiring,  resistless,  without  any  sound, 
True,  true  to  its  Master,  the  wheel  would  go 

round. 

How  plastic  are  we  as  we  lie  in  thy  hands, 
Who,  who  as  the  Potter  the  Clay  understands? 
Thy  ways  are  a  wonder,  but  oft,  as  a  spark, 
Some  hint  of  thy  meaning  shines  out  in  the 
dark. 

What  portion  is  this  for  the  sensitive  clay  ! 
To  be  beaten  and  moulded  from  day  unto  day, 
To  answer  not,  question  not,  just  to  be  still, 
And  know  thou  art  shaping  us  unto  thy  will. 


The  Potter  and  the  Clay  79 


This,  this  may  we  plead  with  thee,  workman 

divine, 
Press  deep  in  our  substance  some  symbol  of 

thine, 

Thy  name  or  thy  image,  and  let  it  be  shown 
That  thou  wilt  acknowledge  the  work  as  thine 

own. 


TWO    WRITERS 

;  AY  after  day,  and  side  by  side,  they  write  ; 
The  pen  of  one  is  like  a  sword,  to  smite  ; 
Before  its  power  the  evil  backward  reels, 
Truth  stands  elate,  down  fall  the  old  Bastiles ! 

The  other  writes. — Dark  shapes  are  here  and 

there, 

A  sickening  incense  poisons  all  the  air, 
Strong  men  grow  faint,  and  hell,  beneath,   is 

stirred, 
And   hears,  well   pleased,  each  soft,  insidious 

word. 


80 


AFTER  THE  STORM 

T    AST  night  a  storm  was  on  the  sea ; 
*^     The  wreckage  drifts  ashore  ; 
Come  walk  along  the  beach  with  me, 
And  hear  the  breakers  roar. 

What  soul  their  sorrow  understands  ? 

What  eye  can  trace  their  path  ? 
They  fling  themselves  upon  the  sands, 

And  foam  with  fear  or  wrath. 

The  shore  receives  them,  patient,  dumb, 
Nor  trembles  at  their  shocks ; 

But  lifts  to  meet  them,  as  they  come, 
Its  great,  insensate  rocks. 

6 

81 


g2  After  the  Storm 

I  look  across  the  troubled  sea, 

And  seem  an  atom,  tost 
To  wandering  winds,  and  what  to  me 

Is  joy,  if  kept  or  lost  ? 

And  what  if  wearied  on  the  way, 

I  faint  and  fall  and  die ; 
Would  any  miss,  till  judgment-day, 

So  small  a  thing  as  I  ? 


THE  YELLOW  ROSE 

"1  X  TITHIN  a  book,  unopened  long, 

I  find  a  faded  yellow  rose, 
It  lies  across  a  poet's  song, 
That  tells  of  love  and  cruel  wrong, 
And  on  the  margin  of  the  page, 
Are  two  initials,  dim  with  age. 
The  song  I  read,  the  book  I  close, 
And  fling  away  the  yellow  rose. 
No  matter,  always,  East  and  West, 
Will  yellow  roses  still  be  pressed. 


83 


LONELINESS 

T  TP !  Up  and  onward  !  Cast  thy  loads 
^-^      Behind  thee,  as  thou  speedest  on ; 
To  shining  summits,   stretch  the  roads, 

Which  many  rain  storms  beat  upon. 
If  boulders  from  the  awful  height 

Come  crashing  down,  look  not  at  them  ; 
A  hand  unseen  will  guide  their  flight, 

They  may  not  touch  thy  garment's  hem. 

Since  thou  didst  leave  the  vales  below, 

Where   smooth,  green  paths   for  thee  were 

made ; 

Since  thou  didst  say  thy  feet  should  go 
Up  the  great  mountains,  un-afraid, 
84 


Loneliness  85 

Make  now  thy  words  of  boasting  good, 
Unto  the  void  thy  terrors  toss  ; 

Vex  not  thy  chosen  solitude, 

With  words  of  loneliness  and  loss. 


"LINCOLN  HAS  FALLEN!" 

Lincoln  has  fallen ! 
Toll  it,  ye  bells,  over  valleys  and  mountains  ; 

Wail  it,  ye  winds,  as  ye  sweep  on  your  way ; 
Moan  it  in  sadness,  lakes,  rivers,  and  fountains ; 
And  all  ye  blue  waves,  on  the  beaches  at  play, 
Bear  it  over  the  sea — a  most  terrible  burden  ; 

Oh,  never  before  such  a  tale  did  ye  tell ; 
The  tempest  was  spent,  and  at  hand  was  the 

guerdon, 

When  out  of   a  clear  sky,  this  thunderbolt 
fell! 

Lincoln  has  fallen ! 

With  his  hand   on  the   wheel,  while  the  wild 
storm  was  beating, 

86 


"  Lincoln  has  Fallen  !  "  87 


How  firmly  he  stood,with  his  calm,  patient  face 
Lifted  up  to  the  sky,  as  if  ever  entreating 
The  Lord  of  the  tempest,  to  lend  him  His 

grace. 
All  around  him    the   leaden  hail   rattled,  and 

loudly 
And  wild,  o'er  the  deck,  swept   the  breath 

of  the  gale ; 
And  we   looked  on   our  pilot   so   gladly   and 

proudly, 

But  see  !  here  he   lies  to-day,   helpless   and 
pale. 

Lincoln  has  fallen  ! 
For  the  old  flag  he  died  :  we  will  wrap  it  around 

him  ! 
He  died  for  the  truth,  deeply  traced  on  his 

soul 
Was  the  law  of  the  Lord,  and  He  surely  will 

crown  him 
A  King,  while  the  years  of  eternity  roll. 


88  "  Lincoln  has  Fallen  !  " 


O  "  People  that  prayed  for  him,"  tenderly  take 

him ; 
O  "state  that  he  loved,"  let  him  sleep  on 

your  breast ; 
Though   hearts   break   within    us,   we    cannot 

awake  him  ; 

Tread  lightly,  speak  low — let  the  President 
rest! 

God  of  our  fathers ! 
To  thy  throne  still   unshaken,  our  hands  are 

uplifted ; 

To  its  pillars  we  cling  in  our  desperate  dread  ; 
Bruised,  bleeding,  and  weeping,  like  wheat  we 

are  sifted, 
All  thy  waves  and  thy  billows  go  over  our 

heads. 
Our  idols  of  clay  have  been  dashed  down  and 

broken ; 

Arms  of  flesh  have  been  palsied,  and  suddenly 
hushed 


"  Lincoln  has  Fallen  !  "  89 


Is   the   voice    of    our   Leader.     Be   thou    our 

Commander, 
And  help  us  to  lift  up  our  heads  from  the 

dust ! 
APRIL,  15,  1865. 


IS  YOUR  LAMP  BURNING? 


OAY,  is  your  lamp  burning,  my  brother? 
^     I  pray  you,  look  quickly  and  see  ; 
For  if  it  were  burning,  then  surely, 

Some  beam  would  fall  bright  over  me. 
There  are  many  and  many  around  you, 

Who  follow  wherever  you  go  ; 
If  you  knew  that  they  walked  in  the  shadow, 

Your  lamp  would  burn  brighter,  I  know. 


Upon  the  dark  mountains  they  stumble  ; 

They  are  bruised  on  the  rocks,  and  they  lie 
With  white,  pleading  faces,  turned  upward, 

To  the  stars  in  the  pitiful  sky. 
90 


Is  your  Lamp  Burning  1  91 


There  is  many  a  lamp  that  is  lighted, 
We  behold  them  anear  and  afar, 

But  not  many  among  them,  my  brother, 
Shine  steadily  on,  like  a  star. 

If  once  all  the  lamps  that  are  lighted, 

Should  steadily  blaze  in  a  line, 
Wide  over  the  land  and  the  ocean, 

What  a  girdle  of  glory  would  shine  ! 
The  darkest  of  places  would  brighten  ; 

The  mists  would  roll  up  and  away, 
And  Earth  would  laugh  out  in  her  gladness, 

To  hail  the  millennial  day  ! 


A  LITTLE  LOVE 

IVE  them  just  a  little  love, 

These  poor  creatures,  with  no  traces 
Of  the  lovely  in  their  faces. 
Though  they  take  your  gift  with  scorning, 
Though  they  grieve  you  night  and  morning, 
In  the  name  of  God  above, 
Give  them  just  a  little  love. 

Give  them  just  a  little  love, 
Touch  their  hands  in  friendly  fashion, 
Speak  to  them  in  kind  compassion, 
Tell  them  of  the  Heavenly  City, 
With  its  everlasting  pity, 
In  the  name  of  God  above, 
Give  them  just  a  little  love. 
92 


A  Little  Love  93 


Give  them  just  a  little  love, 

These  poor  creatures.     On  their  faces 

Sin  and  shame  have  left  their  traces. 

Do  not  judge  them.     Kindly  leave  them 

To  the  Christ  who  may  receive  them. 

In  the  name  of  God  above, 

Give  them  just  a  little  love. 


THIS  ONLY 

T~\EAR  little,  weary,  wasted  hand, 
*•"'     That  from  the  valley  lonely 
Waved  long  farewell,  and  left  to  us, 
This  golden  circlet  only ! 


94 


DEAR  HOPE  OF  MINE 

"TN  EAR  Hope  of  mine,  struck  down  in  strength, 
•*— ^     As  you  were  upward  flying  ; 
Lie  still !  lie  still !  for  you,  at  length, 

Healed,  helped,  all  foes  defying ; 
Shall  cleave  again  the  star-lit  track, 
No  wind  that  blows  may  beat  you  back ; 

You  are  not  dead,  or  dying  / 


95 


A  NEW  GUEST 

T  XT' HAT,  Sorrow!   have  you  come  at  last? 

And  are  you  now  my  guest  to  be  ? 
So  many  times  my  door  you  passed, 
As  one  who  had  forgotten  me. 

Well,  well,  come  in  !     Beside  my  hearth 
Sit  down,  as  many  a  friend  has  done, 

When  all  my  house  was  filled  with  mirth, 
And  hearts  were  glad  from  sun  to  sun. 

For  you  I  spread  no  banquet  fine, 

Nor  call  my  neighbors  in  to  see 
Your  pale,  sad  face,  strange  guest  of  mine, 

Yet  I  a  courteous  host  will  be. 
96 


A  New  Guest  97 


I  will  not  strive  with  you  at  all, 
I  will  not  frown  and  bid  you  go, 

If  Joy  has  gone  beyond  recall, 
You  are  her  sister  dear,  I  know. 

You  did  not  chance  to  walk  my  way ; 

With  orders  signed  and  sealed  you  came ; 
You  followed  where  my  pathway  lay ; 

And  knew  my  number  and  my  name. 


THE  PEACEMAKERS 

T  THOUGHT  I  saw,  upon  the  shining  coast, 

A  mighty  host. 
Their  eyes  were  luminous  with  joy  and  peace, 

That  would  not  cease. 

Somehow  they  seemed  more  royal  and  more 
blest 

Than  all  the  rest. 
Yet  ever  did  they  wonder  that  their  names 

Met  loud  acclaims; 
And  that  such  honor  unto  them  was  given, 

In  highest  heaven. 
They  had  not  borne  the  banners,  in  the  strife 

Of  mortal  life. 
98 


The  PeaceMakers 


99 


Their   foreheads   had    not    felt    the    touch   of 
wreaths, 

Which  fame  bequeaths 
To  conquering  heroes,  as  they  homeward  march, 

Through  Victory's  arch. 

These  were  the  souls  that  when  the  strife  was 
high, 

Made  soft  reply. 
The  men  and  women,  who  could  patient  stand, 

And  make  demand 

For  peace,  peace  only,  though  their  pride  was 
crost, 

Their  dear  hopes  lost. 

Oft    had    they   caught,  with    soft   and   naked 
hands, 

The  flaming  brands 
Which  anger  hurled,  and  quenched,  before  it  fell, 

Some  fire  of  Hell. 

They  did  not  dream  how  great  their  souls  had 
grown ; 

No  sculptured  stone 


ioo  The  PcaceMakers 


Was  piled  above  their  ashes  when  they  slept ; 

But  God  had  kept 
Their  faces  in  his  sight ;  He  knew  the  cost, 

When  passion-tost, 
And  sorely  hurt,  they  patient  came  and  went, 

On  peace  intent. 
Now  they  are  "  blessed  "  evermore,  and  lo ! 

Where'er  they  go, 
The  angels  look  on  them,  and  smile  and  say, 

"  God's  children,  they !  " 


A  LIE 


QHE  told  a  lie,  a  little  lie— 
^     It  was  so  small  and  white, 
She  said,  "  It  cannot  help  but  die 

Before  another  night." 
And  then  she  laughed  to  see  it  go, 
And  thought  it  was  as  white  as  snow. 


But  oh,  the  lie !  it  larger  grew, 
Nor  paused  by  night  or  day, 

And  many  watched  it  as  it  flew, 
And,  if  it  made  delay, 

Like  something  that  was  near  to  death, 

They  blew  it  onward  with  their  breath. 


102  A  Lie 

And  on  its  track  the  mildew  fell, 
And  tears  of  grief  and  shame, 

And  many  a  spotless  lily-bell 
Was  shrivelled  as  with  flame. 

The  "wings  that  were  so  small  and  white, 

Were  large,  and  strong,  and  black  as  night. 

One  day  a  woman  stood  aghast, 

And  trembled  in  her  place, 
For  something,  flying  far  and  fast, 

Had  smote  her  in  the  face — 
Something  that  cried  in  thunder  tone, 
"  I  come !    I  come  !    Take  back  your  own ! 


O  HELEN,  HELEN  DEAR! 

T  TOW  lightly  up  the  winding  stair 

We  ran  together,  she  and  I ; 
And  still  I  see  her  lovely  face 
Look  downward  from  the  landing-place ; 
For  she  outsped  me.     Through  the  gloom 
Of  the  great  hall,  into  her  room, 
She  led  me  on  that  summer  day, 
In  years  that  fled  too  quickly  by. 


I  pray  you,  if  you  ever  pass 
This  sunken  grave,  within  the  grass, 
Touch  tenderly  the  crumbling  stone, 
And  say,  for  me,  in  undertone — 
"O  Helen,  Helen  dear!" 
103 


IO4  O  Helen,  Helen  Dear  ! 


How  fair  she  was,  how  straight  and  tall, 
My  Helen  in  that  far  off-day  ! 
Like  living  things  that  longed  to  go, 
The  curtains  fluttered  to  and  fro, 
As  up  and  down  the  room  we  walked, 
Perhaps  of  love  and  lovers  talked, 
As  girls  have  always  done,  and  will, 
And  nothing  whispered  "  yea"  or  "  nay." 

I  pray  you,  if  you  ever  pass 
This  sunken  grave,  within  the  grass, 
Touch  tenderly  the  crumbling  stone, 
And  say,  for  me,  in  undertone — 
"  O  Helen,  Helen  dear !  " 

What  trifling  things  the  heart  will  keep ! 
They  seem  too  simple  to  be  told. 
That  day  she  lifted  from  its  place, 
A  dainty  thing  of  flowers  and  lace, 
And  held  it  up  that  I  might  see. 
O  little  bonnet,  plain  to  me, 


O  Helen,  Helen  Dear  !  105 


Your  ribbon  streams  across  the  mist, 
A  shadowy  streak  of  palest  gold ! 

I  pray  you,  if  you  ever  pass 
This  sunken  grave,  within  the  grass, 
Touch  tenderly  the  crumbling  stone, 
And  say,  for  me,  in  undertone — 
"  O  Helen,  Helen  dear !  " 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 


G 


OD  !  God !  O  God !  "  Across  the  dark, 

And  through  the  void,  rings  out  the  cryv 
And  souls  before  Him,  standing  stark, 

Are  listening  for  a  clear  reply ; 
Some  signal  flashed  from  distant  spheres, 
To  tell  them  that  He  sees  and  hears. 


"  God  !  God  !  O  God  !  "  Forevermore 
His  name  rolls  upward  ;  where  is  He  ? 

Along  what  unimagined  shore, 
Across  what  undiscovered  sea, 

Must  we  fare  forth  ?     What  wondrous  road 

Will  lead  us  to  the  King's  abode  ? 
106 


Out  of  the  Depths  107 


41  God  !  God  !  O  God  !  "    We  grow  more  bold  ; 

More  love  we  crave  as  years  increase ; 
More  shelters  from  the  heat  and  cold  ; 

More  of  Thy  pity  and  Thy  peace. 
Hold  fast  Thine  own  !  from  Thee  we  came, 
As  deathless  sparks  from  central  flame. 


THE  FUNERAL  DAY 


out  your  dead!    bring  out  your 
dead!" 

A  great  bell  tolled  and  tolled  ; 
And  over  sea  and  over  land, 

The  dread  commandment  rolled. 
"  Bring  out  your  dead  from  hut  and  hall  ; 

One  funeral  let  there  be  ; 
Come,  pile  them  on  this  mountain  top, 
That  all  the  world  may  see  !  " 

Through  all  the  nations  rang  the  cry, 

And  far,  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
The  long  procession  slowly  formed, 

While  tears  dropt  like  the  rain. 
108 


The  Funeral  Day  109 


All  heads  were  bowed  in  speechless  shame, 

No  songs  were  sung  or  said ; 
As  upward,  upward,  step  by  step, 

They  bore  the  dishonored  dead. 

The  dead  !  the  dead  !  the  sun  that  shone 

Through  thrice  a  thousand  years, 
Had  never  looked  upon  a  scene 

So  fit  for  groans  and  tears. 
The  winds  blew  wild  across  the  world  ; 

Earth  shook  through  all  her  zones  ; 
For  O,  what  dear,  dead  hopes  would  lie 

Among  those  whitening  bones  ! 

Pale  mothers  brought  their  precious  boys, 

Alas,  they  weighed  like  lead  ; 
Sad  wives  their  awful  burdens  bore, 

And  loud  bewailed  their  dead. 
Fond  lovers  struggled  up  the  slope, 

Their  tears  fell  where  they  trod  ; 


no  The  Funeral  Day 


They  bore  their  dear  ones  in  their  arms, 
What  weights  were  these,  O  God ! 

"  Tell  me,"  I  cried,  "  O  Earth  and  Time, 

Whence  came  these  pallid  hosts? 
Why  does  the  great  bell  toll  and  toll, 

As  touched  by  hands  of  ghosts?  " 
Slow,  slow,  the  answer  floated  back  ; 

It  smote  through  heart  and  brain  : 
"  These  countless  dead  are  Passion's  slave; 

They  who  themselves  have  slain." 


ETERNITY 


THE  clanging  bells  of  time  ! 

Night  and  day  they  never  cease  ; 
We  are  wearied  with  their  chime, 
For  they  do  not  bring  us  peace. 
And  we  hush  our  breath  to  hear, 
And  we  strain  our  eyes  to  see, 
If  thy  shores  are  drawing  near  ; 
Eternity  !    Eternity  ! 


O  the  clanging  bells  of  time  ! 

How  their  changes  rise  and  fall ; 
But  in  undertone  sublime ; 

Sounding  clearly  through  them  all, 
Is  a  voice  that  must  be  heard, 


H2  Eternity 

As  our  moments  onward  flee, 
And  it  speaketh  aye  one  word  ; 
Eternity !     Eternity ! 

O  the  clanging  bells  of  time  ! 

To  their  voices,  loud  and  low, 
In  a  long,  unresting  line, 

We  are  marching  to  and  fro ; 
And  we  yearn  for  sight  or  sound, 

Of  the  life  that  is  to  be, 
For  thy  breath  doth  wrap  us  round  ; 

Eternity  !     Eternity  ! 

O  the  clanging  bells  of  time  ! 

Soon  their  notes  will  all  be  dumb, 
And  in  joy  and  peace  sublime, 

We  shall  feel  the  silence  come. 
And  our  souls  their  thirst  will  slake, 

And  our  eyes  the  King  will  see, 
When  thy  glorious  morn  shall  break, 

Eternity !     Eternity ! 


"SOMEBODY  'S  WORKING  FOR  SOME 
BODY  " 


T^HE  times  are  hard,  the  world  is  cold, 

There  's  lust  for  power,  there  's  greed  for 

gold, 

And  hearts  are  bought,  and  hearts  are  sold  — 
But  Somebody  's  working  for  Somebody. 


In  lonely  places,  far  and  near, 
The  tangled  paths  to  smooth  and  clear, 
Unthanked,  unnoticed,  year  by  year, 
Somebody  's  working  for  Somebody. 


And  eyes  may  weep,  and  arms  may  ache, 
And  hopes  may  die,  and  hearts  may  break, 

8 


1 14       "  Somebody  's  Working  for  Somebody  " 


But  still,  for  Love's  unfailing  sake, 
Somebody  's  working  for  Somebody. 

I  pray  you  say  these  plain  words  o'er, 
Repeat  them  oft  from  door  to  door, 
By  night  and  day,  on  sea  and  shore — 
Somebody  's  working  for  Somebody. 


PERSONALITY 

'"T'HOU,  helpless  babe,  whose  days  went  by, 

*       As  dim  as  dreams,  as  soon  forgot, 
Wert  thou  myself  ?  nay,  nay,  for  I 

Could  see  thy  face,  and  know  thee  not. 

Dear  child  with  hair  like  shining  flax, 
Who  sat'st  beside  my  Mother's  knee, 

Time's  shifting  sand  has  hid  thy  tracks ; 
What  had  my  life  to  do  with  thee  ? 


And  yon  tall  girl  that  looks  afar, 

And  questions  earth  and  air  and  sea, 

And  follows  fast  her  guiding  star, — 
Dear  God,  how  far  she  is  from  me ! 

"5 


n6  Personality 

In  noon's  strong  light  a  woman  stands, 
With  life's  full  pressure  on  her  laid ; 

Its  curious  webs  are  in  her  hands, 
And  flushed  with  joy,  yet  half  afraid, 

She  turns  her  wondering  eyes  on  me ; 

And  claims  me  yet ;    I  felt  her  needs  ;- 
Up  roll  the  mists  from  land  and  sea, 

I  onward  press — her  form  recedes ! 

Am  I  responsible  for  these  ? 

Far  off,  in  some  great  judgment-hall ; 
Beyond  these  earthly,  storm-swept  seas, 

Must  I  make  answer  for  them  all  ? 


"WHITE  ROBES" 


T  Tl  7  HO  shall  wear  the  raiment  white, 

When  purple  robes  of  Tyre, 
And  costly  webs  from  Indian  looms 

Shall  shrivel  in  the  fire  ? 
Beyond  these  transient  glories, 

Beyond  this  tinsel  show, 
Who  will  stand  before  the  Lord, 

In  raiment  white  as  snow  ? 


THE  MISTLETOE  BOUGH" 

AR  back  among  the  misty  years, 

I  heard  the  sweet  old  song ; 
I  was  a  careless,  happy  child, 

Scarce  knowing  right  from  wrong  ; 
But  O  the  tender,  mournful  words, 
That  through  the  twilight  rang  ; 
And  O  the  lady,  fair  and  tall, 
Who  sat  alone  and  sang ! 

She  charmed  me  with  her  lovely  voice  ; 

Her  hair  was  backward  blown  ; 
She  sat  upon  a  doorstep  low, 

And  it  was  near  our  own  ; 

But  there  were  whisperings  in  the  air, 
nS 


"  The  Mistletoe  Bough  "  119 


She  was  not  "  wise  "  or  "  good," — 
No  little  child  might  speak  to  her 
In  that  fair  neighborhood  ! 

How  strange  it  was  !  I  looked  at  her, 

I  could  not  understand  ; 
I  felt  so  far  apart  from  her, 

Yet  longed  to  take  her  hand. 
I  would  have  asked  about  the  song ; 

Where  was  the  "  Castle  Hall  "  ? 
And  what  the  "  Holly  Branch,"  that  shone 

Against  the  "  old,  oak  wall  "  ? 

Where  is  she  now, — that  lady  fair, 

In  whom  no  child  might  trust  ? — 
I  think  her  very  grave,  to-day, 

Is  levelled  in  the  dust. 
I  wish  that  I  had  gone  to  her, — 

Not  knowing  right  or  wrong  ; 
And  laid  my  hands  on  hers,  and  said, 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  song." 


COME  SWEETHEART  COME 


,  sweetheart,  come  !   across  the  road 
Are  the  great  rocks  that  all  must  pass  ; 
You  may  not  lay  aside  your  load, 

And  though  you  cry,  "  Alas,  alas  !  " 
No  hand  may  help  you  in  this  hour  ; 

We  stand  aside,  you  make  your  moan, 
But  this  is  your  allotted  dower, 
This  pain  must  be  your  very  own. 


The  rocks  are  there,  so  cold  and  gray  ; 

Your  feet  are  tender,  they  will  bleed  ; 
O  sweetheart,  must  you  go  this  way  ? 

Our   hearts   cry   out,  "  What  need  ?     What 
need?" 

120 


Come  Sweetheart  Come  121 


But  come  !  make  haste  !  your  name  is  called  ; 

It  seems  in  love  and  not  in  wrath, 
Smile  now  on  us,  and  unappalled, 

Go  slowly  up  the  narrowing  path  ! 

Now,  sweetheart,  turn  your  peaceful  eyes, 

The  cold,  gray  rocks  you  crossed  alone, 
Are  gleaming  fair  beneath  the  skies, 

By  vines  and  mosses  overgrown. 
Repeat  the  tale  so  often  told  ; 

Just  in  the  darkest,  loneliest  place, 
Your  path  became  as  burnished  gold, 

And  angels  met  you  face  to  face. 


"  LEST  YE  BE  JUDGED  " 


T^HEY  thought,  with  tottering  human  feet, 
•*•       Themselves  could  climb  to  the  judgment- 

seat  ; 

And  their  steps  were  upward  bent. 
But  a  strange  light  flashed  from  a  flying  cloud, 
And  a  voice  dropped  down,  and  the  heavens 

were  bowed, 
And  they  knew  what  judgment  meant  ! 


122 


"TRACE   THOU   THE   PATH" 

THRACE  thou  the  path  which  the  eagle  took, 

•*•       The  first-formed,  glorious  one ; 
Which,  from  its  birthplace  on  the  rock, 
Went  soaring  toward  thesun. 

And  seek  and  see  if  ye  cannot  find 

On  the  ancient  eastern  shore ; 
One  priceless  gem  from  the  glitt'ring  crown, 

Which  the  Queen  of  Sheba  wore, 


And  a  chord  from  the  harp  that  David  smote ; 

And  a  shred  of  Tyrian  stain  ; 
123 


124  "Trace  Thou  the  Path  " 


And  a  leaf  from  the  palms  whose  boughs  were 

wet, 
By  the  first  bright  drops  of  rain. 

The  earth  and  the  air  closed  over  them ; 

They  are  fled  with  the  human  hosts ; 
They  returned  again  to  the  formless  void  ; 

They  are  less  than  the  dreams  of  ghosts. 


JOY 

I     1ST  !  her  feet  are  at  your  door; 

^•^     Her  sandals  shine  with  evening  dew; 

How  late  she  is  !  but  now,  once  more, 

She  turns  her  radiant  eyes  on  you. 
For  long  delay  she  makes  amend  ; 

Rare  scarlet  blooms  around  you  fall, 
And  glad  new  songs  to  Heaven  ascend, 

For  earth  is  glorious,  after  all ! 


125 


IN  DARKENED  HOUSE 

IN  darkened  house  of  common  clay, 
The  brain,  imperial,  dwells  alone; 
None  say  to  it  or  yea  or  nay, 

Or  ask  its  right  to  crown  and  throne. 
The  dull,  gray  substance  sleeps  and  wakesr 

And  wonders  why  and  whence  it  came  ; 
With  sense  of  self  it  throbs  and  aches ; 

A  heaving  force,  a  prisoned  flame. 
By  law  unwrit  or  sacred  sign, 

It  holds  its  power, — a  right  divine. 

Behold  the  king ! — how  lone  his  state ! 
But  countless  couriers  round  him  stand  ; 
126 


In  Darkened  House  127 


They  do  his  bidding  while  they  wait ; 

Or  outward  haste  at  his  command. 
Viewless  and  soundless,  up  the  height, 

While  radiant  suns  beneath  them  glow ; 
With  wings  made  swift  by  sheer  delight, 

Where  mightiest  angels  only  go ; 
They  speed  their  flight, — what  worlds  unfold  ! 

They  find  what  kings,  in  dreams,  behold  ! 

What  power  is  here  ?     What  master  grand  ? 

In  darkness  bound,  of  lowly  birth  ; 
Yet  made  to  think,  and  feel,  and  stand, 

As  God's  own  Viceroy  on  the  Earth. 
The  beasts  before  him  cringe  and  creep  ; 

The  ancient  mountains  bow  them  low  ; 
As  still  as  death,  through  oceans  deep, 

The  swift,  obedient  lightnings  go. 
Thou  brain  of  man ! — awake — asleep — 

Still  art  thou  King, — thy  kingdom  keep  ! 


A  NEW  PRAYER 

TV /I  EN  and  women,  long  defeated, 
*•     *     Pray  a  new  prayer  on  your  knees ; 
Ask  no  more  for  love  or  riches, 

Ask  no  more  for  fame  or  ease. 
Lift  your  empty  hands  to  Heaven, 

Pray  for  wisdom,  that  alone, 
Though  He  watches  worlds  in  motion, 

He  will  hear  your  faintest  tone. 
Angels  will  descend  to  help  you, 

Stone  by  stone  shall  yet  be  set, 
Slow,  persistent,  without  clamor, 
Without  sound  of  workman's  hammer, 

You  shall  build  your  temple  yet ! 

128 


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